“Oh,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t know there was a rule.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a smile. “We’ll get you back in your own car as soon as we can. I have to tell ya, though. We’re pretty backed up.”
And the stack of surprises grew higher.
I walked out of the shop door and moved around the corner of the building. There was a place to fill your car tires with air, and I sat on the curb, closed my eyes, and tried to get myself back together with little success.
Lose.
Chapter 2—Rainy Day Haircuts
Finally pulling myself up from the ground, I walked away from the shop and headed down the road. Of course, it started to rain about then—just a little sprinkle. The sprinkle quickly turned into a downpour, naturally, and I was sopping wet as I trudged down the sidewalk, staring at my feet as I went.
I stepped over every crack in the sidewalk, trying to pace my steps just right so I didn’t have to walk awkwardly. As I came to intersections or driveways, I lifted my shoulders up a little higher until I got past. When I was a kid in the car, I would always lift my feet off the floor when we went past driveways—like I was jumping over them. The fixation on the act helped keep me calm and kept me from worrying about whether or not my clothes would be ruined by the rain.
I counted steps between drives. I counted red cars as they passed by me. I counted the number of breaths it took when I had to cross the street. As focused as I was, I didn’t even hear my name at first.
“Matthew? Matthew, is that you?”
I looked up into the face of—once again—Mayra Trevino. She was in an older model, sky-blue Porsche, and she pulled over right beside me—facing the wrong way on the street.
“What are you doing in this rain?” she asked.
I could only shake my head at her.
“You want a ride home?”
“It’s only another mile,” I responded.
She sighed, looked a little exasperated, and pursed her lips together.
“Matthew, don’t be ridiculous. You’ll catch a cold or something.”
“Viruses aren’t caused by weather,” I said.
“Let me give you a ride,” she said more insistently.
“You’re on the wrong side of the road.”
“If I move, will you get in?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. It would make me feel better, that was for sure. Right now she was facing traffic, even if there wasn’t anyone coming. It just didn’t look right—not at all. Without waiting for me to respond, she backed up a little and repositioned the car at the curb on
the other side of the road.
“Well, come on then!” she called out the window. “I’m getting wet here, too!”
“You don’t have to do this!” I called back to her. About that time, the thunder started rolling in. Lightning burst across the sky, and the rain came down even harder.
“Get in the damn car, Matthew.”
When she put it that way, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice, so I looked both ways, lifted my shoulders, crossed the street, and went around to the passenger side. Standing in the rain was a little ridiculous, and I didn’t want Mayra to end up all wet, so I got in the car.
I shivered, and Mayra turned up the heat in the Porsche.
“I’m getting the seat wet,” I said quietly, and my heart began to pound.
Mayra laughed.